


metal yard musings

by theartisticfool



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, the oc is a robot crow hogan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 22:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18678826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theartisticfool/pseuds/theartisticfool
Summary: no one wants to talk about how they got heresome of the most honest conversations happen at midnight





	metal yard musings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a snapshot of a somewhat-larger AU I have wherein each of the 5Ds boys - not just Jack - has a doppelgänger, which all fall into the ND-Satellite area after the Ark Cradle leaves. This ficlet mostly serves to highlight the dynamic between two of them. Notably, FakeJack's characterisation is pretty different from how he appears in canon due to a corruption in and an inability to restore his original code after he exploded.
> 
> Not sure if I'll write anything more for this; for now, the chapter count is going to be set to 1/1 as if this is a complete work.

It’s quiet within one of the many scrap heaps in Satellite. Local wildlife weaves in and out of ravines of metal piled up to the smog in the sky, any movement obscured by the darkness smothering the nighttime hours of those places without lamps to light the way. People worth caring about don’t live in these junkyards, so lights were never deemed a necessity.

One cannot even see their hand stretched out against the stars.

“What do you think is out there?”

“Mn?”

The repulsion of the Ark Cradle did not come quietly; the fortress parted with some of the scrap contained within it, and though a great deal of it simply fell into the ocean, it all eventually had to go _somewhere_. As such, it was tossed onto Satellite as if people had learned nothing. The island’s scrapyards were piled high once again, filled to the brim and further with pieces of the Ark Cradle and whatever was contained within it that fell away.

People can’t afford to stay in there; there simply isn’t any room for anyone.

“Well, you know, _out there_! Out in the world.”

Things that are not people, on the other hand, are more than welcome to take up residence here, for it is a place without curiosity, without care. People don’t often go snooping. It’s the perfect place to a hide a thing for no one to find.

It’s perfect if you’re a thing no one wants to see.

“...what kind of a question is that?”

Jack Atlas sits up from atop one of the lower piles of rust and ruin to frown at the figure lying next to him. Crow Hogan bats his eyelids with disinterest.

“What?” Crow mutters as his eyes shift back up to the bleak smoke choking the air. “It’s a weird question.”

Jack’s shoulders droop with disappointment. “You’ve been around for longer than I have! Why is it a weird question?”

“Because you’ve _been_ ‘out there’ before,” comes Crow’s eye-rolled retort. “You already know what’s ‘out there,’ so you don’t need me to go telling you. It’s not like I even remember, anyway.”

This seems to be enough for Jack for now. He sighs and lies back down on the slab of debris atop this pile, his gaze occasionally drifting toward his companion in hopes that he’ll be wearing some expression that isn’t “hopelessly bored.” It never comes.

He sits up again and looks to the distant light of Neo Domino.

“...I was only out there for like a week, though! I hardly know anything about the world...”

“You can say that again.”

“Hey!”

But it’s true, and Jack can’t deny that.

With a huff, Crow sits up too, hunching forward and planting his elbows into his thighs. The red hooked lines bleeding across his arms cut through the pale glow of his skin in what little light the night provides.

“Alright,” he says dully, “tell me what you got from that week.”

“What?”

“Tell me what landed your ass back in the Ark Cradle.”

Jack blinks in bewilderment, tilting his head. “What lan...” His expression quickly falls, however, and his head and shoulders draw inward. “...oh.”

“Say it.”

“...I don’t want t-”

“ _Say_ it.”

There’s a silence between the two of them. The wind whistles between the gaps in the scrap below them. Jack doesn’t like thinking about his last day, and so he ultimately avoids answering the redhead entirely, choosing instead to look upon a distant, third figure positioned atop the tallest junk pile in the yard. It’s hard to make the figure out in the dark, even for Jack, but the stark white hair is hard to miss from any distance.

He’s too spaced out to notice a few squeaky clicks next to him, scrambling back and stumbling when a flame is suddenly waved in his face to startle him. He tumbles about halfway down the scrap heap, knocking numerous smaller objects down to the ground in his attempts to catch himself. He eventually manages to hold still, gazing back up the pile as Crow pays his folly no mind.

“...that wasn’t very nice,” Jack calls back up.

“I am not nice,” Crow replies, blowing out the lighter in his hands.

Slowly, Jack clambers his way back up to the top of the pile to rejoin Crow. He sits with more tension in his spine than he did before, though, a motion to which Crow responds with a slap to Jack’s back. “This is what I’m talking about,” he says.

Jack already knows; he doesn’t need to be told.

“You got booted back to the Cradle in pieces, and when you were put back together you could barely function without setting your insides on fire. Not to mention you can barely go three seconds near a flame without _flipping your shit_.”

“I-it’s not that-”

“You’re afraid of the _dark_.”

Jack is quiet, and eventually he simply lies down on his side, facing away from his companion. He hates being in this cold, dark place, though. He would rather be anywhere but here.

A few minutes tick by. Once can almost hear the gears turning in their skulls, the coolant in Jack’s veins flowing smoothly through his throat.

“Is Mister Imposter Syndrome still sulking over there?” Crow speaks up suddenly. Jack pushes himself up to look back at the redhead.

“You mean Yuusei?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jack glances back over to the tallest trash pile; the white hair is still there.

“He’s still up there.”

“Mn.”

Jack sits up again and shifts his legs to tuck his knees under his chin. “I don’t get it,” he mumbles. “I’m not _actually_ Jack.”

“Uh, okay? No shit.”

“And you’re not _actually_ Crow, but you still call me Jack and yourself Crow.”

Crow makes no comment, instead stretching back out on the pile with a sigh.

“So why don’t you call _him_ Yuusei?”

To this, Crow actually sputters a laugh, mirthless as it may be. A wry smile paints his features as he vaguely shakes his head, a disdain for their aforementioned “leader” trickling through in the moments where no one else could see it.

“It’s what he wants.”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t let him have it... It’s awfully cruel, reminding him of what he isn’t.”

Crow sighs. “Yeah? And his anger over it is all he has.”

Jack eyes the redhead timidly. “...are you trying to do him some kind of favour?”

He’s answered with a snort. “What? No, of course not. I’m trying to rub it in his face.”

“...oh.”

A few more minutes of silence settle between the two. A cool breeze tickles the back of Jack’s head.

Eventually, Crow rolls onto his side. “Go get him before he wears his battery down. We have better things to do than drag him around in the morning.”

Jack lowers his head, red eyes peering at the dirt far below. “...alright.”


End file.
